Perfection
by purple pear 87
Summary: Lily Evans- the definition of perfect. Or so James Potter thinks, anyway, before he's assigned to being a Head along with her, and sets out learning the lesson that not everything is the way it may look. JP/LE A oneshot of epic proportions.


**Author's Note- Hiya, everybody! -waves- Long time no see! Or read, as the case might be.  
**

**I promise that I will update as soon as physically possible. Thank you so much for letting me take a couple weeks to finish up school and spend time with my friends and family. I really appreciate it, and I'll have another chapter up soon. **

**Until then, enjoy!  
**

Lily Evans.

The definition of perfection.

It wasn't as if she tries to be popular, James thinks. It's more like a genetic deficit, like blue eyes or a uni-brow. Something that you just had to work with and make your own. And it works for her. Everybody loves her- teachers, students, even random strangers walking by her on the streets. There's some kind of magnetic attraction that pulls happiness and luck towards her- and even if it isn't a good force, it happens gracefully. There's some kind of a bubble around her that deflected tragedy.

It helps that she's beautiful. Her red hair tumbles down her shoulders in a way that defies gravity laws, her eyes shines like morning stars (only green), her skin is as perfect and smooth as a baby's, and there's a fragility and beauty in her features that makes you want to put your arms around her and protect her from all the evil in the world. Not, of course, like she would need it. Being Lily Evans. Half the entire student body is in love with her. Every girl wants to be her. Every boy wants her. Guys follow her around the hallways, panting like lovesick dogs, slipping her notes into her bag. Even the most unpopular boys get a smile from her when they profess their undying love- she actually went out on a date with Peter Pettigrew when he asked with no prodding. It's the kind of thing that causes more people to fall for her.

Which James has. Fallen hard, head over the heels, and never managed to pull himself back up to his feet. And he had never wanted to, either. She's the most perfect girl he's ever met- smart, funny, sweet, caring, and talented at everything she does- whether it was painting, writing, public speaking. The problem is, he's nowhere near good enough for her.

Sure, he's good-looking enough- plenty of girls had been watching him for years, but he doesn't care. Yes, he's pretty good in his classes, and exceeds at Quidditch and flying, and he 's easy-going, but he isn't perfect. Not like her. The only real relationship he's ever watched her have was with Benjy Fenwick, when she was in sixth year and he was in seventh. He had been a Head Boy, and the handsomest boy in the school, He'd been friendly, and charming, and smart. . . But there was something wrong about him. Something wrong about seeing Lily with any boy. It breaks James' heart.

But now it's seventh year, and he has a whole other opportunity to display himself to Lily, to hope that she would look at him and actually see, and give him a chance. There's hardly any chance of that happening, but still, he has to have something to wish for, or his heart will explode or he'll go insane.

The whistling of the train sounds, and James' mother smiles teary-eyed up at him. His robes sling over his shoulder, his owl cage rests on the top of his trunk propped against his side. Steam was billowing throughout the station, and people were hurrying to get onto the platform.

"Well, this is it." His mother presses her lips together and blinks rapidly. "The last time I get to kiss you good-bye before you get on the train."

"Mum," he rolls his eyes, but it's only because that's what she expects him to do. In truth, he feels a bit teary himself. This is, after all, his last year.

"And you'll be leaving me after that," his mum sighs. "Moving out of our house and into a flat in the city. Getting a job and forgetting about me except for when I call every Sunday, or bring you a homemade dinner." She smiles rather watery, and tucks a strand of her auburn hair behind her ear. "As it should be."

"Ah, Dorea." James' father, who has been watching this exchange with amusement, puts his arm around Mrs. Potter and looks at his son. Mr. Potter looks much like his son- with the same rumpled black hair, tanned skin and long nose, and the grin he gives the younger boy is exactly similar. "James is going to Hogwarts, not off to join the forces! He's still our son. He's got an obligation to be come visit us." Mr. Potter winks at James, who grins back.

"Thanks, Dad." He holds out his arms, and his father gives him a brief, manly hug, then claps his son on the shoulder. "Good luck, James."

James turns to his mother, who still looks as though she's trying not to cry. He sighs and smiles and lets her wrap her arms around him, and breathes in her scent of lavender, chamomile, and fresh soap for one last time, before prying himself gently from her, and planting a kiss on the top of her head. "Bye, Mum," he says, and she smiles and rests her hand on his cheek. Normally he wouldn't tolerate this amount of affection, but since he won't be seeing her for about a year, so he allows it.

"Good-bye, James." His parents watch as he hauls his trunk and owl up the train steps before the door closes. He puts his hands up, wiggles his fingers and turns his attentions to dragging his luggage down the hall, peering through compartments. His heart stops. He can see a head of gorgeous red hair through the window, but he can't stop to gape- he has more pressing matters. He finally reaches the last compartment on the car, and opens the door. There are his friends- Sirius, Remus, Peter and Frank, talking and laughing and eating sweets. They look up and smile as he enters, and Peter immediately gets out of his seat to help James store his trunk in the overhead compartment, even though he has to stand on a chair to do so. James thanks him, and takes the seat next to Sirius.

It's been three months since he's seen his friends, and they've all grown. Sirius has gotten a beard and since shaved it away- the stubble remains coating his chin and down his neck, and his hair is now past his ears, brushing against his jawline. Remus has gotten even taller, if that's possible, but he's somewhat filled out, and doesn't look so much like an awkward giraffe now. Peter's gained more weight, and his stomach's even rounder and there's a telltale sign of maturity in the deepening of his voice. Frank Longbottom's dark hair has grown out from the buzz-cut it had been, and the bones in his face are more carved out than ever.

"This is it," Sirius grins at James, offering him a bottle of butterbeer. God, only nine in the morning, and they're already drinking. James holds out his hand, takes it, pries the cap off with his teeth and takes a drink. He could use it, he thinks. "Our last year at Hogwarts. Good riddance, I say."

"So, who got Head badge?" Peter asks conversationally, propping his feet up on the bench across from him. "Remus?"

Remus grins and shakes his head. "Alas, Wormtail, Dumbledore seems to agree that I've had enough trouble ordering you around." Sirius snorts, and James grins, rummages around in his pockets, and pulls out a red and gold badge to hold up for inspection. "Guilty," he says, flashing it around. Sirius's jaw drops.

"You're Head Boy?" He splutters, taking the badge and flipping it over between his fingers, as though checking for a forgery. "But. . . You? _You?_"

James grins and takes the badge back so that he can pin it onto his shirt, then gives a sardonic salute. Sirius rolls his eyes and chucks an unwrapped chocolate frog at his head. He catches it before it can hit him and rips the paper, stuffing the candy into his mouth. The taste of chocolate is like the first taste of freedom.

When the lunch trolley begins to make its rounds, and James leaves the compartment to walk down the hallway, to where the prefects and heads will be meeting with Professor McGonagall. He wonders absently who the Head Girl will be- probably Marlene McKinnon, the Gryffindor who has read enough books to rival Remus. He'd probably be able to make it through the year with her.

He pushes the door open, and the first thing he sees is her. Lily's sitting on a bench, her legs crossed over one another, her hair braided out of her pretty face. She looks even more older and beautiful than she did last year. She looks up as he enters, and gives him a shy smile, her green eyes bright against her tanned face. He grins back, and then quickly scans around the room, so she doesn't notice his staring. The fifth years look a lot younger than he remembered being. McGonagall looks her usual frosty self, sitting so stiff that she looks like a tightly strung violin.

"Nice of you to join us, Mr. Potter," McGonagall says dryly, and he ducks his head and attempts to look embarrassed, while he's really overjoyed.

Lily's Head Girl. Lily. _His _Lily, Lily Evans. It's like a dream come true- he'll finally be able to spend time with her, get to know her, fall even harder for her, and hope she likes him- even as a friend- in return. Anything to be close to her. Suddenly, the prospect of having a Head Boy badge pinned to his front doesn't seem so bad, especially when it means being paired up with her. He's so caught up with dreaming of the next year, that he doesn't hear McGonagall calling his name.

"Potter! Mr. Potter!"

A sharp nudge to the side causes him to yelp in pain and look around wildly. Lily looks a bit too innocent to believe, and her eyes twinkle sideways at him. As he thrills to the thought that she touched him- willingly- for the first time, he looks up into McGonagall's furious face. "Er. . . yes?"

"Do you have anything you'd like to say to the prefects?" McGonagall asks, her face a bright shade of purple. "If you don't mind paying attention to me, Potter?"

He searches his brain- it doesn't take long, and there's not much in there. He looks helplessly around the compartment, and Lily stands up. "May I say something?" She asks sweetly, and McGonagall's angry expression fades into one of measured affection. "Of course, Miss Evans," she practically purrs- all of the teachers love her. Lily smiles, smooths her hands over her skirt and pats down her braid. The prefects watch her with awed expressions- most of them are the bookish type, and aren't used to being so close to popularity.

"Being a prefect," she begins, clasping her hands in front of her and looking earnestly at the fifth years. "Is a great honor. It means that, of all the other students in the school, you've been chosen as the most responsible, the best representatives of your houses." She smiles at the students in front of her, who look pleased with themselves. "You'll have to look out for the new students- help them when they're in trouble, and be kind to them, if they have nobody else. You'll need to keep order in the castle, so we can have a joyous and successful year. Try to fit random acts of kindness in every week- offering to tutor those who are stuck, raising somebody's spirits, giving them the last muffin at breakfast," there's laughter, and she smiles indulgently, waiting for it to stop before continuing. "Just have fun," she explains. "This is the beginning of the rest of your last three years at this school, so try to enjoy it."

She's too good for him, James decides, as he watches her hands move, her earnest face, and the way the fifth years seem to worship her already. There's an aura around her- an impenetrable, perfect aura that overpowers any darkness, making anyone suddenly feel cheerful. The problem is, it's not working. He feels worse about himself than ever. She'll never want him, in a million years, and it will be torture, to have to work with her, knowing that she's out of his league, knowing that she'll find somebody to love within a few months, and having to watch her cavort with him. Agony.

There's a smattering of clapping, and she sits back down in her seat, smiling, letting all the eyes turn to James. He clears his throat awkwardly, and doesn't bother to stand up. "Yeah. I guess that's important, what she said. I was never a prefect. Minnie didn't seem to think I was responsible enough for the job." He flashes a grin at McGonagall, who looks torn between laughing and giving him detention, There's an appreciative tittering from the fifth years. "One of my best friends was a prefect, and he was too afraid of his friends to really impose the regulations of the school." From the shifty eyes of some of the fifth years, he can tell that more than a few of them had the same problem. "But, the thing is, your friends aren't going to hate you, if you have to tell them not to pull pranks, or to be nice to an unfortunate classmate. If they're your friends, they'll understand. But that's not the important part about being a prefect." He struggles to find some advice to hold onto. "This position isn't about you. It's about taking care of the school and, as Lily said, the students of Hogwarts. It's about discipling the people that need it- but more than that, it's about caring for everybody." He gives an awkward smile, and the fifth years clap- less enthusiastically than they did for Lily, but still.

He sits back in his seat, feeling hot around the collar, as Professor McGonagall takes over, describing the many assignments that would befall all of them. Lily's listening, hands folded primly in her lap beside him, and he can hardly hold back a sigh. This year might be longer than he thought, resigning himself to inevitable heartbreak.

The train rattles to a stop at the station some hours later, and the doors slide open with a rusty squeal, letting steam into the carriages. James makes his way down the corridors, and manages to jostle some smaller sixth years to get onto the platform, and into a carriage with his friends that takes them up the winding path and to the gates of the castle. Seeing the familiar towers and buttresses sends a rush of content and excitement through him- somehow, the castle and his house have been switched- Hogwarts seems more like home now. The ghosts are awaiting the students in the Great Hall, and the sky is a murky black tinged with silvery stars. The four tables are covered with golden plates and goblets, ready for their arrival. They sit in their usual seats, and watch the other students filing in. It's good to see so many familiar faces. He waves at some Ravenclaw girls that are looking at him with interest, and they hide their mouths behind their hands and giggle,

The first years are soon sorted, and James can't remember ever looking that small and terrified- though of course his mother has pictures to prove it. They have twenty-four new first years in Gryffindor, and they look like an admirable lot. Dumbledore gets to his feet, says his usual nonsensical words, and then the plates fill magically with food, and the benches squeal as hundreds of students lean forward to load their plates. The house-elves have outdone themselves, and everything is more delicious than he can remember it. Or maybe that's because it feels so good to be back. He takes a hearty swig of pumpkin juice and looks around the hall, realizing that this will be his last year- his last sorting, his last start-of-term feast. It causes a pain, almost like a knot, to bloom inside him. Rubbing his chest, he concentrates on finishing his food and grinning as Sirius talks about some girl or another, and soon the feast is over, and he gets to his feet, along with the prefects, to round up the Gryffindor midgets and bring them up to their dorm. Sirius smirks at him as they leave, so James flips him off, hoping that the small children don't see. Lily is at the back of the group, talking with an admiring group of first-years. James smiles, fights the urge to join in, and leads the group up the marble staircase, past the talking portraits, around a few suits of armor, and finally to the Fat Lady's painting.

She's gained weight, or so it would seem, and her smile is wider than usual. "New first years?" She asks, as the students gape at her. "Well, they're a good-looking bunch. I hope you'll train them up to stock, right, Potter?"

"Right," James says, grinning. "Er. . . Wattlebird." He turns to the midgets. "That's the password for the next couple weeks. If she changes it, just ask one of us, and we'll be glad to tell you."

The Fat Lady swings open, revealing the familiar Common Room, and the cries of delight and excitement on the first-years faces are almost precious. He watches them examine the room- the squashy armchairs, already filled with people- the fireplace, the paintings. Lily takes the girls, and he takes the boys up the respective spiral staircases, and to the empty dormitories, and helps them make their rooms. At last, when all the students are settled on their beds, he goes down the steps to find Sirius and the others before they go up to their dormitory.

"Hey, Potter?"

He turns, and sees Lily hurrying down the staircase, her face open and energetic. He pauses, and she stops right beside him. She's about a foot and a half shorter than him- if he put his arms around her, she'd probably only come up to his collarbone. It should be illegal, for someone to be so small and gorgeous. He raises his eyebrows, and her teeth are so white in her smile that it's almost blinding. "Did you hear about our new dorms?"  
"Our what?"

She cocks her head to the side as though examining him, and a little crease appears in between her eyebrows. "Our dorms. The Heads of the house get a special dormitory, apart from the rest of the seventh years. Haven't you heard of it before now?"

He stares. A dormitory for. . . him and Lily? Alone? Together? He could live with that. He would live with that. "Do you know where it is?" She starts across the Gryffindor common room, towards a door he's never noticed before, and looksover her shoulder at him. He follows her at once, up another spiral staircase that leads to a tiny hallway separating two bedrooms. The one on the right has a bronze plaque with his name on it, and his trunk is on the bed. It's a nice room- spacious and light, with a large four-postered bed, pale gold draperies. He slings his trunk onto his bed, and goes at once to the huge picture window. The view is amazing- the purple-blue lake gleaming in the sun, the rolling fields and forest, and the mountains in the distance. He sighs happily, wondering how many other people had looked out this window- had lived in this room.

There's a knock on the door, and he turns from his perusal to see Lily. She smiles, looking around his room, and joins him out the window. "Wow. Great view." He can hardly breathe- she's less than six inches away from him, and the ends of her long hair are brushing against his arm. She seems entranced by the way the light plays on the water. He turns to her. "So, is your room the same?"

She wrinkles her nose and nods. "The view's awful. And it's smaller. I think they're slightly biased." She smiles, and he walks away from the window, and into her room across the hall. Her room is smaller, with red draperies and a small window looking out across the courtyard and directly at the Astronomy tower. She could probably see in the windows, if she really wanted to. He turns and goes back into his room, and she's still looking out the window, lost in thought. He watches her, and there's such a deep sadness on her face that he wonders if her life really is perfect.

"Lily?"

She turns, looking surprised, and the smile is plastered back on her face. It looks too fake to be true. "Hmm?"

"Don't you want to get unpacked?" He asks, worrying about her. "Then go meet your friends?"  
Confusion crosses her face, and it's almost like a child's, for how long it takes the words to get through to her, then she nods. "I guess I should." She breezes out of his room, taking her wonderful scent with her, and as the door clicks shut, he feels something acute to loneliness.

. . . . . .

Sirius is mad at James. He can tell that by the way Sirius' shoulders hunch over and tosses a sack of Bertie Bott's beans into the air, catches it, and throws it back up again. He's laying on his bed, legs crossed, and he shoots an irritated look at James. Remus and Peter are unpacking their trunks while Frank flips pages of his comic book, and James is sitting on the bed next to him, toying with Sirius's broom. Finally, Sirius gives an irritated sniff, and tosses the sack of beans onto his bedside table, fixing James with a glare.

"I don't understand why you can't room with us," he says with a grimace. "It's our last year. We're supposed to be pulling pranks and having fun. We can't do that if you're off being a _Head Boy _across the building."

"Hey." James isn't sure how to handle this- Sirius is touchy when he's upset. "It's not like I won't be up here every day. Come on- all this means is that I'm sleeping somewhere else. I won't have to hear your snores every night."

Remus, from over at his bed, snorts with laughter. Sirius chucks the bean sack at his head, and he catches it with lightning reflexes and begins to eat them. Sirius turns back to James. "But still- it messes up all of our plans for mass domination. You're going to turn into a good little school boy who runs to McGonagall and blabs all our secrets."

James laughs at his melodramatics, but Sirius seems, well- serious. Remus rolls his eyes towards James. "It's all right, Sirius," he says, tossing the half-eaten sack of jellybeans back at Sirius's head. It hits his forehead and bounces off, leaving a red mark. He rubs it absently, and Remus continues. "The Head Girl's Lily Evans, after all. If anything, she can lead him towards the light. . . And you know how long James's been in love with her, anyway."

James attempts to look embarrassed, but after realizing that this is true, and that he's spent the last five years of his life talking about her, he gives up before he can be successful. He takes the jellybeans and begins to eat them, thinking. "It's okay, Remus," he says, choking on a bean that tastes of dirt. "Lily would never like _me_, anyway."

School starts again. James is sure that the teachers have gotten even more driven and intent on working their students to the bone. They're assigned five scrolls of parchment to write by the next week, and no amount of protesting or pleading will stop them. McGonagall's particularly determined.

"This is your final year- your N.E.W.T. year," she says irritably, sweeping around the front of her classroom, as they watch, a new copy of Transfiguration Today on their desks. "This is when it counts the most, to learn and do well in school. Your grades will affect the jobs you will have. I cannot stress the importance enough." And her expression is so determined- along with the cawing of birds and mewing of cats that she's passing out for them to transfigure- that James feels a bit frightened. And indeed, he should, because McGonagall gives out five detentions- three to Sirius, one to Peter, and one to James, for playing hangman while they're supposed to be turning a parrot into a nutcracker.

The day goes by, and the other classes are no better. At least this year, he's dropped both Divination and History of Magic, so there's no more failed tests or skipped homework assignments and naps during the lessons. A bit of a disappointment- he loves teasing Binns. But if he's going to be an Auror, like he wants to, there won't be any need for knowing how many goblins died in the wars of 1467. At last, He scarves down his dinner and goes back up to his dorm, to start the homework he'd been assigned, stretched out across his bed. He can hear people going up the stairs and into Lily's dorm-room- hear her chiming laugh, but ignores all of it. Before he knows it, the clock's chiming seven, and he has to go to detention.

James shrugs on a clean collared shirt- sort of a navy green color- and runs a comb through his hair before realizing how ridiculous this is- he's going to detention- so he puts on his trainers and pulls open the door. The room across the hall is softly lit, and there's a whole group of girls in a circle on the floor- Lily, Hestia Jones, Marlene McKinnon, and Alice Longbottom. They look up as he pulls his door shut.

"Where are you going?" Marlene teases him, running a hand through her long brown hair and smiling flirtaciously, batting her long eyelashes. "Looking like that." She looks him up and down, and he can feel his cheeks turning red. Marlene's no Lily, but she's pretty enough.

"Marlene!" Alice elbows her in the ribs and grins at James. "You're embarrassing him." She winks at him, and gives a little laugh. She's cute, too, with her blond hair cut short around her round face.

"Hot date?" Hestia cuts in, lowering her eyelashes. She's beautiful in a way that Lily isn't- strong and smoldering, with long, curly black hair, heavy eye-makeup and bold features. Sirius has been talking about her for the last few months long enough for him to know this. "Who with?"

James grins and pretends to adjust his collar. "Professor McGonagall." he says, wiggling his eyebrows. "Down in the trophy room, with a couple of scrub brushes."

They laugh, and Lily rolls her eyes. "What'd you do this time?"

This time? Like she'd been paying attention to him, and noticing his many, many detentions in the past? He suddenly felt buoyant inside, and grinned around at all of them. "Let's not get into it," he says, as Marlene laughs and Alice smiles.

"Give her love from us!" Hestia sings out, as he nods to them and begins walking down the hall and towards the staircase. He was late for painting the Divination classroom along with Sirius once, and it only caused them each to get four more detentions.

"Good night, ladies!" he calls back on his way downstairs, still grinning.

When he gets back from scrubbing the entire dungeon floor with a toilet brush, he wipes his grimy face and hands on his shirt sleeves and heads, defeated, up the staircase and down the hall to his room. Lily's door is still open, but all the other girls have left. A lamp is lit on her bedside table, and by the soft, yellow glow he can see Lily, sitting by the window, her arms wrapped around her knees, staring out into the blackness. She looks immeasurably sad, and he'd love to walk over to her and put his arms around her- have her hug him back- but he wouldn't dare. Instead, he opens his door as silently as he can, and tries to forget the image of her anguished expression.

. . . . . .

Lily has a cat. It's a fluffy, brown-and-black tabby cat, with pointed little ears and huge green eyes that are almost as beautiful as her owner's. It's a wild cat, prone to biting and scratching anybody that comes near it, and prowls the castle, eating mice and hissing at students who came too near. Unfortunately, however, Lily loves it like a child, and it loves her in return. It'll sleep, curled up, on her stomach, purring loudly as she scratches its ears, and when its near her, it won't let anybody else within a foot without flaring its tail and waving its tiny claws.

And so, when James wakes up the next morning to find a face full of fur, he's petrified. He sits straight up, and the cat slides down his chest and lands in his lap, yowling and raising red scratches on his arms. "Lily!" James bellows, not caring who hears him or if he wakes her up so long as she gets the cat off him now. "Help!" There's a crash from the next room- it sounds as though she's fallen out of her bed in shock. Running footsteps come first, and then his door bursts open and there's Lily, dressed only in a large, button down shirt that comes down to the tops of her thighs, her hair loose and tangled, her eyes wild. "What-who-are-" she sees the cat attached by the teeth to his arm, freezes, and then bursts out laughing. He's never heard her laugh before, and his lips automatically tug up in a smile- it's open and friendly and intoxicating.

"Oh, my God," she finally stops laughing and walks towards the cat, who sees her and releases its grip on James to hurdle across the bed and into her outstretched arms, purring happily and rubbing its face against her neck. "She likes you, thats all."

"_Likes _me?" James looks from the bleeding puncture wounds to the cat in Lily's arms- he could have sworn that it was smiling smugly. "Oh, right, I should have known. Only _normal _creatures sink their fangs into arms of people they like."

She laughs and then sees his arm, and sucks a quick breath in. "Damn. You're bleeding." She puts the cat down, and it immediately runs out of the room and down the stairs. He can hear its paws thumping all the way down. Lily holds up a finger to him and hurries out the room. He watches her bare legs as they go. God, even when she just wakes up, she's gorgeous. She comes back into the room with a tiny bag and pulls out a paper slip. He stares at it warily, as she peels the paper away and reveals a small sticker.

"What's that?" He asks, inching slowly away from her as she advances. "No. Stay away from me."

She rolls her eyes and grabs his arm, using the tails of her shirt to mop up the blood. He inhales his breath, watching the exposed skin disappear as she drops the shirt, and applies the sticker over the wound, her fingers smoothing down the ends and lingering on his skin. He can hardly breathe- she's standing so close next to him that he can feel her warmth, her hair brushing against his bare chest, and smell a vanilla scent in the air. She smiles, and then seems to realize that she's wearing nothing but an over-sized dress shirt, and he's not wearing anything at all but boxer shorts, and a pretty pink blush spreads across her cheekbones.

"Er. . ." she stutters, taking a step back and adjusting her shirt awkwardly. "I should go. . . get dressed. . . sorry about Lucy."

Her cat's named Lucy? Probably short for Lucifer, James decides, watching her scurry out of his room and shut the door quickly behind her. Oh well- at least he knows that the sight of him shirtless doesn't completely unaffect her.

. . . . . .

Lily Evans is going on a date with Caradoc Dearborne.

James would quite like to punch somebody.

Preferably that blond-haired, blue-eyed, pretty-boy seventh year Hufflepuff, for asking Lily to the Hogsmeade weekend in in October before he could. But, it's probably not a big deal. Just hanging out with friends, or shopping, or getting ice cream. Nothing to get upset over. Not a big deal at all. Still, he wishes he'd asked her first. That's something about Lily- she goes out with any boy who asks her. They would have had a fun time. And he doesn't much fancy seeing her holding hands with him, and getting that familiar sharp pain in his chest.

October comes, and the leaves turn the color of Lily's hair. The grass dies and the wind blows sharp and cold. The Hogsmeade weekend was coming closer and closer, and in desperation, James goes to Sirius and begs him to change Quidditch practice so that it was scheduled for the day they would go into Hogsmeade. Sirius only laughs at him- he has a date with Hestia Jones, and he wouldn't give it up for all the world.

So, James is forced to spend the day with Remus and Peter, who are so unlike each other that it's strange that they even became friends. Peter drags them to the sweet shop, and Remus only wants to bury his nose in books at the bookstore. James would quite like to spend the whole time ogling the Stratus 4000 in the broom shop. So they compromise, and hide from the blustering winds inside the Three Broomsticks. James sips his Butterbeer bitterly, wondering where Lily and Dearborne are. Probably in some lovey-dovey tea shop, holding hands and making eyes at each other over the sugar bowl.

But then, when he looks up over the steam from his hot drink and across the pub, and sees Lily and Caradoc Dearborne at a booth. Dearborne is gesticulating madly at her, leaning forward earnestly across the table, looking already madly in love with her. But Lily's leaning back against the bench, back hunched,, looking for all the world like she would rather be anywhere besides there. Dearborne's hand is inching towards hers, but she clamps her arms firmly across her chest and even that only slows him down for a minute, before he's drawing something in the air with his hands and trying to make eye contact with her.

He grins, and knowing that not even perfect Caradoc Dearborne makes an impression on her is like a consolation prize- not as good as she would be, but still worth something.

. . . . . . . .

Halloween goes by, and soon the winds are replaced with dark clouds that blow down snow to cover the grounds and coat the naked trees with icicles and frosted sugar. James' scarf and hat become permanent fixtures on him. Sirius insists on wearing a ridiculous fur hat with ear flaps that he thinks is high fashion. Remus goes around with permanently blue lips and hands that tremble so violently Slughorn has banned him from making potions. Peter is permanently protected by the thick layer of fat that covers his middle, or so James thinks. Lily doesn't seem at all fazed by the cold- she's so vibrant and full of life that she drives away the chill- but she wears a grey woolen hat in the hall that looks adorable with her long wavy hair and bright green eyes.

The first lesson that James learns from the new school term is that Lily Evans is most definitely not a morning person. Professor McGonagall has arraigned a prefect's meeting for eight o'clock on a Saturday morning, and it's currently seven forty-five, and there's no sign of Lily. James checks his hair in the mirror, tries to flatten it with a comb, but in the end it makes such a little difference that he gives up, and leaves his room. Lily's dormitory is still dark and silent, He pokes his head on, and sees her bundled up underneath a heavy blanket.

"Lily?"

There's a muffled groan from inside the room, and he steps inside. He hasn't been in her dormitory room since that first night of school, and even through the dark, he can see her clothes strewn across her dresser, her books flung across the floor, sheets hanging off the bed. He had always thought of her as neat- knowing that she was a slob was reassurance. If she was neat, as well as everything else, she would be too perfect to be allowed. James steps closer to the bed, barely breathing. Her entire room smells of vanilla.

"Lily."

The lump under the blankets stirs, and he can see one eye peering blearily out at him. "Who's that?" she asks sleepily.

"James," he says, feeling awkward.

She grunts and pulls the sheet up over her head. "What'd'you want?"

"We have a prefect meeting in five minutes," he tells her, and she shoots straight up, her sheets falling off her legs and her hair tumbling over her back and neck. "A meeting? At nine?" She grabs a pillow and throws it at the floor, her delicate face twisting up in irritation. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"

He ducks the second pillow and makes his way slowly towards the door. "Um. . . I don't know. . ." She gets to her feet and starts towards him, her eyes bloodshot and her hands outstretched. She looks so much like a zombie that James turns on his heels and sprints out of the room and down the hall. "I'll see you down there!" He hollers, trampling down the stairs and across the common room to where the meeting will be.

Surprisingly enough, it's only about three minutes before Lily shows up, which is much sooner than some of the prefects. She's wearing a baggy t-shirt and a pair of black jeans, her hair thrown back in a sloppy ponytail, her eyes barely open. She takes the seat next to James and immediately lays her head down on her folded arms and proceeds to go back to sleep.

"Miss Evans." McGonagall's seated at the head of the table, sorting through papers as they wait for the prefects to file in. Lily raises her head, and James notices that the usually stern face has a gentle smile on it. "If you're that tired, you might have wanted to pick up some coffee at breakfast." James looks down at his own, untouched mug, and slides it across the table to Lily. "Here," he says, pushing it to a stop so that it's resting by Lily's hand. "I haven't had any."

She grabs the mug and chugs the entire thing down. She wipes her mouth on the back of her hand and slides the mug back to James. There's a twenty-second wait, and then her eyes fully open and she beams around the table. "Good morning, Professor! What a lovely day it is. I just feel so refreshed." She pulls her hair down from its rubber band and arranges it over her shoulders, finger-combing out the tangles until it looks as though she'd spent an hour working on it. It wasn't fair, James thought sourly, that her hair could be that perfect while his was a bloody bush. As though reading his mind, she shoots him a blinding grin and props her chin up on her hand, looking as though she could conquer the world.

That's the first of many times that James discovers the wonder of caffience.

The meeting goes by quickly, and James and Lily are assigned to patrol the school for the next week and a half. James doesn't mind- when would he ever object to spending time with Lily?- and Lily smiles absently at him and looks at her watch. Of course, she has better things to do with her time than spend the evening in the deserted castle with only him for company.

So, he's not entirely surprised when seven o'clock rolls around, and there's no sign of Lily, either in her dormitory or in the common room. She must have ditched her duties and gone somewhere with her friends. Not surprised, yes, but quite disappointed, all the same. He had looked forward, to being in the dark alone with Lily, to talk if not anything else. But, he still has a job to do, so he bundles up his pride and tucks his wand into his back pocket and pulls his collar up over his exposed neck to protect against the cold, and starts his rounds.

The hallways are dark and silent and entirely lonesome. He shoves his hands into his pockets and tries to think of anything but shadows and disappointment and Lily. He goes down a moving staircase, past snoring portraits and into the Transfiguration Hall. He pulls his wand back out of his pocket and mutters a quick incantation that causes light to flare up from the tip. He swings it around the hall nervously.

There's a figure, crumpled in a heap at the feet of a suit of armor. Heart thumping in his throat, James hurries towards it. Only when his wand-light lit the person, and the intertwined strands of gold and copper mixed with red shines around the room like a beacon, does he realize who it was. "Lily?"

She takes her head off her arms and looks up towards him. Even though her eyes are red and swollen, tears coating her eyelashes, gluing them into black triangles, and her nose is damp, she's still the most beautiful person he's ever seen. She blinks. Twice. And then squints at him, as though trying to place a name to the face. ". . . James?"

"Hi." He takes a step towards her- like a nail being pulled towards a magnet- and slides down the wall and sits on the floor beside her. He isn't sure what to do- whether he should touch her or not, and whether that would cause her to crumble, as though he would tarnish her. She's too perfect to be allowed. Unnaturally perfect.

She gives a choked little laugh that only barely masks a sob. She brings her hands up and splays them over her eyes to wipe away her tears. They come away clean- she must be wearing no makeup, then. He's never thought it was possible for someone to look that good naturally. "This is awkward." She wipes her nose on her sleeve and looks at him. It's probably the only time she would ever, and he lets the warmth and happiness of that feeling engulf him. "I barely know you."

And then the feeling is gone. He laughs awkwardly. "Er. . . yeah. I guess." He shoots her an admiring look, and she, wiping her eyes again and glancing at him, sees that. She rolls her eyes and gives a dramatic little sigh. "Please, don't."

"What?"

"Stop it. Just stop it. I'm so sick of that." She's glaring at him now, her eyes like molten lava. He's entirely confused. She seems to understand that, and sighs. "Don't look at me like that. Everybody thinks I'm some kind of god, like I'm absolutely perfect, and-and I can't have any faults." She wipes her eyes on her sleeve again. "You don't know me! None of you know me! Nobody even considers that I'm a real person. They just, want to put me on a wall and admire me. A poster- that's all I am. And I'm done with it."

He frowns, and she sees that as well. "You don't believe me? Fine." Her pretty face morphs in anger, and he could only hope to Merlin that it wasn't because of him. "I got a letter, yesterday. My mother killed herself. My father used to hit her around, before he was arrested, for drug possession. But he was released last year. My sister's in intensive therapy, and she hates me." She took a breath, and he was frozen in place with horror, but mainly sympathy. "You have no idea what it's like to be me, any of you! Nobody supports me, in my family. I haven't had a parent figure since I was five. I have no money. When school's over, and we graduate, everyone else will be moving into their own flats getting jobs, becoming successful- and I'll be working at a Muggle convenience store."

He can't imagine that- the great, immortal Lily Evans dressed in an ugly blue smock, checking out groceries while people wait impatiently. He could never imagine what it would be like- to not have a family, to not have any money. His parents adore him, and, though he doesn't like it or brag about it- they're crawling in money. She sighs. "And every Christmas, when I go visit my family, and my dad at the jail, I get the stares from people disgusted by my family, because we're not perfect. We're not even at all perfect. And then I come back to school, and get people like you, who think I'm the epitome of perfection."

"I'm. . . sorry?" James isn't really sure what the appropriate thing to say is. She chokes back a sob and sighs, scooting closer to him to lay her head on his shoulder. He can barely breathe- but somehow, knowing that she has feelings, that she isn't a perfect doll, that her home life is, in fact, in tatters. She smells good- like flowers and fruit and the ocean- but mainly vanilla-, and her cheek is soft and warm against his shoulder. He lifts his arm, and puts it awkwardly around her back.

"I'm so sorry," she says, her voice thick with tears again. "I didn't mean to spring on you like that. It's just. . . I miss my mother so much, and. . . she's gone. She was the only one who. . . who cared about me. And I've got nobody to talk to about this."

"You can tell me," James says earnestly, as she sobs into his shirt. "I'll understand." She doesn't speak, but her fingers tighten on his collar, and he rests his head on hers.

For once, he can forget that she's utter perfection and he's not worthy of being near her, that he's completely in love with her and she'll never look at him. They're just two figures silhouetted against the dark window, seeking comfort in each other.

. . . . . . . .

After that night, something's changed between them. Lily can't fool James by pretending to be her usual, cheerful self, so she's only herself. She'll come into his bedroom at night, when his friends are helping him scheme and plot mischief, and will sit herself down on his bed and chime into the conversation with some remarkably good ideas. The rest of the marauders have already accepted her, as people usually seem to do.

But it's when he's alone, doing his homework that Lily comes into his room the most often. She'll curl up on the foot of his bed, take his Quidditch magazine and flip through the pages. They don't speak, and barely look at each other, but there's something oddly comforting about having Lily so close to him. It's a routine now.

Occasionally, especially when its raining or there's some other unpleasant weather, Lily will talk. She'll tell him all about her mother, the smell of her garden roses in the springtime, the songs she'd sing before bed, the taste of her soup. She'll talk to him about her father, and how he would hurt her every night, and show him the lingering bruises. She'll explain how her brother got into Muggle drugs, and how her sister would bully her into submission. And James will sit there and listen and bite his lip to keep from wrapping her in his arms and telling her that he's so _sorry _that she had to go through this, that she doesn't deserve this, and to protect her forever from her family.

"I'm sorry," she says one week in mid-November. "I don't mean to be unloading all this onto you." She looks at him, really looks at him, as though her vivid green eyes could see through his chest and into his soul. "I just. . . I mean, I don't really know you. But I just look at your face and it makes me want to open up and spill all my deepest secrets. There's something about you that makes me feel, like. . . like I'm at home."

He smiles at her, because there's really nothing to say to that. She stretches her hand out for his, and he takes it and weaves his fingers through hers. She goes back to reading his magazine, and he wonders. What are they doing? They're not together. They might be friends, but he's not sure. For now, at least. He runs his thumb over her knuckles and hopes that whatever happens, she'll still want to be near him.

. . . . . . .

"James?"

It's early December, and the snow is falling past the window in blustery sheets, piling up on the sill. The castle has become so cold that it's customary for the seventh years to wear heavy coats and flannel blankets in the halls and in the common room, clustered around the blazing fireplace. James is sitting in a squashed armchair, playing chess with Remus as Sirius goes on and on about some girl or another. They usually turn him out, so it takes him a moment to connect his name to the voice of a girl. He turns, and there's Marlene McKinnon, standing behind him, looking fairly awkward.

"Oh, hi, Marlene." He smiles at her, and she goes pink.

"Hi."

He waits, to see if she'll say anything, but she continues twisting her hands in front of her. "Did you want something?"

She glances surreptitiously at Remus, and he coughs and pretends not to be listening. "Yes, actually. . . I was wondering. . . Do you want to go to Hogsmeade with me next week."

There's a dropping sensation of dread in his stomach, and he scratches his head, awkwardly. "Er. . um. . ." he really doesn't want to. He's only had a few girlfriends before realizing that Lily was the one for him, and he's never looked at anyone since. But Marlene's a nice enough girl, and he doesn't want to hurt her feelings. "Er. . . I'll think about it, and tell you tomorrow?"

She looks reasonably put-out, but nods and walks away, her long brown hair swinging across her back in an annoyed fashion. James turns back to the chess game, and finds Remus watching him intently.

"She's not going to object, you know," James has forgotten just how perceptive Remus is when he has to be. "Lily," he says, in answer to his questioning look. "She'll want you to go out with her best friend."

James shrugs and slides his rook forward, effectively capturing Remus' knight. "I don't know. . ." he mumbles, attempting to end the conversation. Remus sighs. "You'd better get over her, mate," he says wisely, in the way only he can. "Because otherwise your life's going to be nothing but shit,"

"Right," James says dully, as, in a few simple moves, Remus manages to skirt around his bishop to checkmate his king. "I'll keep that in mind."

It's late when he gets up to his dormitory. Lily is sitting on her bed, brushing through her wet hair. She must have just taken a shower. The air is filled with hot steam. James pokes his head in the door frame. "Hi."

She looks up to him and smiles brilliantly, combing out a snarl at the ends of her hair. "Hi."

He walks into her room and sits down beside her on the bed. She turns to face him, her legs criss-crossed, and the scent of shampoo and the thin camisole she's wearing over plaid pajama pants go straight to his head and makes him woozy. "So. Marlene asked me to go to Hogsmeade with her."

She freezes, and then seems to force herself to finish brushing her hair and begin plaiting it over one shoulder. "Yes, she mentioned she might. So, what did you tell her?"

He can't believe that she's taking this so calmly. "I don't know," he tells her, watching the dark red hair weave together. "What do you think I should say?" He stares intently into her face, and implores her to understand him.

She does. Her eyes widen and she gives a little sigh, dropping her braid and folding her hands in her lap to look at him seriously. "I think you should tell her yes," she says quietly, "You'll have fun with Marlene."

He frowns at her. "Can. . . Do you know a reason why I wouldn't go with her?"

She tilts her head and looks at him, her lip trembling. "James." To his horror, her eyebrows crinkle together and there's wetness in those big, big eyes. He reacts instinctively, and grabs for her hand. "Lily, I didn't mean to. . ."

She pulls her hand, gently but firmly, out of his and folds her arms across her chest. "Go out with Marlene," she says in a low voice. "She'll make you happy."

He gets to his feet, suddenly feeling like there was a lump in his throat. He blinks rapidly. "Right. I'll go tell her yes, and then we can be a happy couple together." He heads for the door, rumpling his hair in annoyance. He's across the hall and into his bedroom, his hand on the door, ready to close it, when she gets up from her bed and goes to stand in the doorway.

"James," she says, her voice heavy and constricted. He turns reluctantly, and she looks so sad that he can't help but feel sorry for her. Her eyes are huge and misty and reflecting the low lamplight. Her hands float upward towards his. "I'm sorry."

"Save it," he tells her, perhaps more sharply than necessary. Her brows draw together over the bridge of her nose as he slams his door shut in her face and throws himself onto his bed. It isn't unmanly to cry, he thinks, in the sting of rejection, and buries his head under his pillow to let out a few necessary tears.

The next Saturday, James can be found sitting in the crowded Three Broomsticks, sipping his piping hot butterbeer while snow swirls past the windows. Marlene McKinnon is sitting across from him, clutching her own drink and chattering away happily. "I'm so glad you decided to come," she says, flipping her long, sandy-blond hair over her shoulder and beaming at him. "It would have been such a shame to go to Hogsmeade alone."

James shrugs, uncomfortable. He would have liked nothing more than to have stayed at the castle without her, but Marlene's a nice girl, and she doesn't deserve to be ignored. "Thanks for inviting me, I guess." She smiles, her deep blue eyes twinkling and crinkling at the edges. "Not at all." she leans forward over the table, her hair swinging forward to brush against her cheek. "I think you should know, I've been dying to go out with you for the past year."

He smiles uncomfortably. This is not a conversation he wants to be having with her. His eyes scan the room, darting over Sirius and Hestia, wrapped around each other in an inconspicuous back booth; Remus and Peter with their heads bent together over a scroll of parchment, and finally coming to rest on the table at which Lily and her friends are sitting, watching him and Marlene. Alice Prewitt raises her hand, when she sees him looking, and waves at him, wriggling her eyebrows suggestively. The other girls start to giggle, all the while giving him and Marlene knowing looks. James smiles vaguely at them, but his eyes are drawn to Lily, who's watching him with an odd expression on her face. She doesn't look away, when she sees him staring, and his breath catches in his throat as she tips her head to the side, still studying them. At the same time, he's aware of somebody calling his name.

". . . James? James!" He drags his gaze away from Lily and back to Marlene, who looks put-out. "I'm sorry," he says, with a half-glance towards Lily. She's turned her back to him and is now in deep conversation with Alice. "What did you say?"

She frowns at him, leaving him to wonder if all people with blue eyes are able to have that searching, soul-penetrating gaze. It makes him feel exposed. Vulnerable. "I was asking you if you're going to that Quidditch practice on Tuesday," she says, letting the matter drop. "If you're not, we need to get you a replacement." He gives his head a quick shake to clear it. He's forgotten that she's on the team- a Chaser, just like him.

"Oh! Er, yeah, I've got to go. I'll have to skip patrolling, though." His stomach churns at the idea. He would never willingly miss an opportunity to be with Lily, but Quidditch ranks higher than her on the list of importance. Marlene doesn't seem to notice his reluctance, however, and they spend the next hour or so discussing Quidditch, a subject in which James can forget that the girl sitting across from him, making eyes at him, isn't Lily, and that he feels so incredibly heartbroken.

At last, when darkness begins to bleed through the streets, it's time for them to leave. They go outside the pub, and James shoves his hands into his pockets as hers comes looking for them. She takes a deep breath and looks up into his face anyway. "Thanks for the great time, James."

He doesn't know what to say. "Um, not a problem." Her face is turned towards his, open and hopeful, and he knows what she expects, and doesn't want to let her down. He cups her face in his hand, and brings his lips down to hers. He tries, really tries to forget about Lily, to concentrate on the soft, pliant lips moving eagerly underneath his own. But, when it comes down to it, it just feels wrong, like he's lying to himself. He pulls away from her, sees the dreamy, expectant look on her face, and then, directly over her head, there's Lily, standing frozen to the pavement, her face pale against the darkness, a look of shock and, if he's not mistaken, hurt across her features. He can't take it anymore. He steps away from Marlene, shaking his head. "I'm sorry."

She draws back, a crease knotting her forehead. "What do you mean?"

He runs his hand through his hair, not caring if it's standing up on end. "I can't do this." He looks up to see Lily, who's too far away to hear their conversation and trying to determinedly avoid looking at them. He looks back at Marlene, to see her blue eyes filled with tears, and watching him.

"It's her, isn't it?"

He only stares at her. Maybe Marlene, like both Dumbledore and Remus, possesses the ability to see right through him. She closes her eyes and half-smiles. "I knew it. Well, I suspected it, anyway. Why else would you only agree to going out with me after checking with her?"

"I'm . . . sorry?" He watches her expression and sighs. "Marlene, I _am_ sorry. I thought that, maybe if I went out with another girl, I'd be able to forget about her. Get over her. But. . ." he raises his shoulders in defeat. "I guess it just didn't work." She tilts her head to the side and watches the snow land on her gloves, and it occurs to James how sad the pair of them are. Marlene, who's longing after him, who can't get Lily out of his head. Neither of them have who they want. Neither of them ever can.

"Well, I guess I'll see you around," Marlene says in a dejected little voice. If she were somebody else, he would have instinctively put his arms out to comfort her, but that could be taken the wrong way. Instead, he pushes his hands into his pockets, clenches his jaw and says, "I. . .I guess so." He hesitates, then turns to leave, his feet plodding through the snow.

"James." He turns to look at her, and her eyes are filled with tears, but she smiles, sadly. "Do you think you could set me up with Remus, then?"

He laughs, relieved. "I'd be happy to. See you around?"

She nods, and he can feel her eyes on the back of his jacket as he walks away from her, down the snow-strewn streets and back to the castle. This whole 'date' was a disaster, he thinks sourly. He never should have agreed to it. The only good thing that came out of it, he decides, was the expression on Lily's face, like she'd be knocked over the head with a bludger. Perhaps she'll be more understanding of him, now.

. . . . . . .

"Lily."

It's eleven o'clock on Sunday morning, and James pokes his head into Lily's dorm room. She's sitting at her window sill, a sketchbook spread out across her lap, a stick of charcoal clenched in her hand as she draws. She turns her face to him as he raps shortly on the door-frame, and there's a smudge of charcoal on her forehead. She quirks her mouth at him in what could be called a smile, and brushes her hair out of her face. "Hi. What's up?"

He enters the room, and perches on her bed. Her blanket is wonderfully soft, and her cat is sprawled out a few feet across from him. He looks at it suspiciously- it looks like its laughing at him. He turns away from the cat to Lily. "Can we forget that the past two days ever happened?" He asks pleadingly. "I mean, Marlene, and. . . everything." He doesn't say what he means most- to forget that he may or may not have revealed that he's completely in love with her.

She considers him for a moment, then puts her charcoal down. "I. . ." she sighs and wipes her hands on her jeans. "I guess so. If it's so important to you." He frowns at her- maybe she didn't realize what he'd been asking her, or what she said. "It is." He says, just to make sure, and her face is carefully blank. She shrugs at him, as though she hasn't thought twice about it. Just to make sure, he holds out his hand. "So you won't think about it? Pinky-promise?"

She smiles, and it wrinkles her nose. "Pinky-promise." She links her littlest finger with his, and even the slightest touch is warm and electrifying, so he holds it for longer than usual. She lets go of his hand and picks up the charcoal again. He leans over her shoulder, peering down at the sketchpad. It's a drawing of the Astronomy tower, and every little brick and shadow is drawn perfectly realistic. He gapes- he had no idea she was this good.

"Merlin," he says reverently, as she adds a few clouds to the sky. "You could probably sell that to an art museum for millions of dollars." She smiles up at him, and her face looks so open and happy that it gives him an odd twist in his chest. "Thank you."

He points at the book as she adds the last finishing touches on the drawing. "Can I look through it?" Her eyebrows come together over the bridge of her nose, but she shrugs. "If you want to." She offers it to him. He sits down next to her on the sill of the window and leans into her as he flips through the first blank pages. He stops to admire a colored drawing of a woman, leaning her elbows on a kitchen table. She has long wavy red hair and a gentle smile that crinkles her eyes. There's only one person it could be. He tilts his head towards her. "Is this. . ."

"My mother," she says, tracing over the drawing with one finger. There's a smile playing around her lips. "I drew it last year, when I came home for the holidays." She sighs, as though lost in thought. James studies the drawing. "She looks like you," he says finally. "It's kind of scary. Only she has brown eyes."

She nods absently. "Yes. My father has green eyes." She doesn't say anything else, which tells James to drop the subject. He's heard before how her father is an abusive drug addict. He can't imagine what that's like, so he just flips to the next page, and admires the hasty sketches of a forest, a meadow, her cat. There's a portrait of Marlene and Hestia and Alice, with their arms around each other, laughing. He smiles and turns the next few pages, before he sees on a drawing of Sirius, who's face is twisted in anger, with shards of broken china around him. He stops and looks at Lily. "When did you draw this?"

She leans closer to him to see what he's talking about. "Oh! Er. . ." she looks uncomfortable. He can only hope that it's not because she and his best mate are dating in secret. "I don't know. He told me not to tell anyone, but. . . well, I was in the owlery, and I guess you could say I was hiding, because I was in the dark corner, trying to attach a letter onto my owl's leg. And then he came up, and I didn't feel like saying hi, so I just skulked and ignored him," he snorts at the idea of Lily skulking, and she smiles at the sound. "But he was reading a letter that he pulled out of his pocket, and his expression. . ." she gestures at the paper. If James had ever seen that expression on Sirius's face, he would have run in fright. "And then he started smashing the owls' drinking bowls. And it was just too perfect a scene to not draw it out. The emotion, behind it." she sighs wistfully. "I wish I had models, who'd want to pose for me."

She shoots a furtive glance at James, who's frowning. "But. . . what about those owls? Won't they dehydrate, if they don't have any water?"

She stares incredulously at him, her mouth opening in bewilderment. Then she laughs, tipping her throat back slightly so that her hair falls down her back and brushes against his arm. It's softer than anything he's ever felt before. "Oh my God, I can't believe you care about the bowls. But, no, I repaired them, when he'd left." She presses her upper arm against his briefly. He tries not to hyperventilate and turns the next few pages. Her drawings really are incredible. He'd give anything to watch her creating one.

"Hey," Lily says, turning her face towards him. They're hardly more than a foot apart. "D'you think. . . well, maybe I could draw you sometime?"

He wrinkles his eyebrows at her, and she actually blushes. "I know, that sounds crazy," she mutters. "But, well, you've got the perfect face for it. Expressive. You know?"

He shrugs, trying not to celebrate too much in the idea that she's just said he has a perfect face. "I suppose I could. If you really want me to, I guess." She claps her hands together and beams at him, and he would've agreed to anything right then, just so long as she stayed near him with that smile. She's too persuasive for her own good.

. . . . . . .

True to her word, Lily seems to forget about James' Hogsmeade date. She doesn't bring it up, at any rate. Marlene's been avoiding James ever since they got back, and while it does make him feel guilty, he's relieved. He doesn't want a girlfriend. He wants Lily. And, true to his word, James has decided to set Marlene and Remus up with each other. She would probably bring Remus out of his 'werewolf shell', and he'd probably like that. At any rate, if it doesn't work out, they'd be able to dissect each other with those blue eyed stares. He shudders. He doesn't think he likes blue eyes. Only green. Of course, if Lily had blue eyes, he'd swear that he hated green. Love's strange like that.

James holds up a dark-red sweater and contemplates it. He's going home for the Christmas holidays, and the train to King's Cross Station arrives in an hour. Christmas is his favorite holiday- not for the presents, or the food, but for the traditions and all his family that gather in his house. He folds the sweater and sticks it on top of the already-overflowing trunk. If he doesn't wear it, he can always look at it and think of Lily. It's the precise color of her hair. Merlin, he's getting obsessed.

With a bit of difficulty, he manages to lock his trunk lid and drag it outside his door. He's worse than a girl, Sirius has told him many times, with all the clothes he packs. He decides to ignore this, and throws on his overcoat, buttoning it up and hiding his tangled hair underneath a ski cap. He knocks on Lily's closed door. There's a muttered curse, hurried footsteps, and then she opens it, wearing a green sweater, her hair twisted back, a toothbrush in her mouth. She quirks her eyebrows at him.

"Just thought I'd say bye," he says breezily, as though his heart doesn't skip a beat at the sight of her. "I'm leaving, for the next week."

Her eyes widen, and she holds up a finger, hurrying towards her bathroom to spit in the sink. When she comes back, she's not holding a toothbrush anymore. "You're leaving?" She looks disappointed.

"Yeah. I mean, my parents want to see me, after. . ." he lets his sentence trail off, cursing himself for his insensitivity. The last thing he wants is to upset her during the holidays, making her think of her parents- parent- who doesn't want to see her. But she doesn't seem particularly upset. "Well, have fun, then," she says brightly, turning her back on him to leap across the room and pick up a wrapped parcel that's resting on her desk. She offers it to him. "Happy Christmas," she says, as he takes it and tucks it under his arm. "Hope it's a good one."

"Thank you," he says, genuinely touched, and before he can stop himself, he's opening his arms out for a hug. But she smiles, and steps into them, her hands coming around his waist to link at his back. His hands are resting on her hair, which is soft and shiny, and she smells wonderful. She only comes up to his chin, like they're made to fit together. He doesn't want to let her go, but eventually she pulls away and smiles. "Bye, then."

"Bye." He says, feeling rather dizzy, but hoists his trunk up. "Happy Christmas." As though in a dream, he floats down the stairs and across the common room. Sirius is waiting by the Portrait Hole, his trunk resting against his leg. He grins when he sees James, and they walk out of the common room and down the hallway together. Sirius always comes to James's house for the holidays- especially since this past summer, when he ran away from his parents' house to stay with him. James's parents adore Sirius, so it's like having a real brother.

The train ride from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade is long, and James sprawls across the bench, Remus on one side of him, Sirius across from him, and stares out the window at the rising sun and forests of snow and ice, and tries not to think of Lily. He can still smell her on him.

"James."

"Hmmm?" He turns to look at Remus, who's giving him an odd look. "What?"

"You were smiling like a lunatic," Sirius pronounces, running a hand through his jet-black hair and leaving it casually tousled, in a way that James's hair will never be. "I think you're losing it, mate?"

Remus frowns at Sirius, then nods at the parcel, still on top of his trunk. "Who's that from?"

"Lily," he says, confused again. "Isn't that weird? I mean, why would she give me a present?"

Sirius looks noticeably bored, but Remus shrugs. "Why don't you open it?" he suggests. James always knew he was the smart one. He stands up on his seat, swaying slightly as the train rattles and bumps over the rail, and grabs the parcel. It's neatly wrapped, in white paper that's covered with doodles of flowers, a green ribbon tied in a bow at the top. He pulls it off and loops it over his wrist, then carefully pulls off the tape, making sure not to rip it. At last, he unfolds the paper, and sees a Quidditch magazine, with a picture of the captain of the Montrose Magpies on the cover- James' favorite team. Astonishingly enough, there's a signature underneath the photo of him. Heart pounding with excitement, he sees a note, and snatches it up to read Lily's carefully looped writing.

_James- I know the Montrose Magpies are your favorite team. I went to one of their matches when I was twelve, and managed to get an autograph from Hamish MacFarlan. Well, I don't know all that much about Quidditch, but I'd wager it's worth quite a bit. Anyway, I thought you'd appreciate it. I know for a fact that you don't have this magazine- I've read all of them, after all. Happy Christmas. -Lily._

He beams and gently folds the note in half, tucking it into his breast pocket, so that it's close to his heart. He holds the magazine up to Sirius. "Look at this."

Sirius takes one look at the front cover and rolls his eyes. "Montrose Magpies? Not a chance, mate. Caerphilly Catapults all the way." Naturally, James can't let that comment go. Consequently, they spend the next hour and a half arguing about Quidditch teams, and Remus looks remarkably relieved when they arrive at King's Cross station. When James manages to wrestle his trunk out of the train, there's his mum and dad, smiling and waving through the billowing steam. He heads towards them, and allows his mother the customary hug and kiss, and his father the slap on the back. Sirius joins them, and she hugs him too, then stands back to beam at them,

"I swear, you've gotten taller," she sighs, smoothing down her hair and clucking her tongue at them. "Boys just don't stop growing." James' dad chuckles and tousles James' hair- which he doesn't appreciate, given its state. They gather up their luggage, and apparate onto the front yard of their house.

It's mansion, really, of red brick, covered with draping vines. The yards have been covered with heaps of snow, and the orchard in the back is iced over. They make their way up the carefully shoveled steps and into the warm home. Ivy and lights are strung around the stairs and ceilings, and there, in the living room is a towering pine tree, with brightly colored baubles and the usual giggling angel perched on the top branch. James' mother bustles off to the kitchen, where pies are baking- pumpkin and mince, by the smells wafting towards him- and James' father helps them drag their trunks up the stairs and into their adjourning rooms. James sighs, looking around at the walls covered with Quidditch posters and photographs, at the bed covered with flannel sheets that he outgrew years ago, but didn't want a bigger one.

He smiles and goes down the stairs again, to sneak tastes of the pies while his mother will chase him around the kitchen with a spatula.

It's good to be home.

. . . . . . . .

On Christmas Eve, James' relatives arrive, laden with packages and luggage and more food than they can possibly eat. With generous hugs and pinching of cheeks, they declare that James has gotten too skinny, and that he needs to be fed more. They hug Sirius, too, whom they've never met before, but they've probably been drinking enough eggnog that it doesn't matter to them anyway. The kitchen is crowded with women cooking and children chasing each other around, and James lies on the couch in the living room, where all the men are sitting around the fire and talking about politics, and watches the scene happily. He can't imagine not having family- any family at all. Especially one that doesn't love you unconditionally. He'd give anything to share his family with Lily, and watch how their love would change her. It's already changed Sirius, he's noticed, from where he's chattering away with James' uncle and second cousins, who seem impressed that a member of the Black family is staying with them.

Dinner is delicious- roasted ham, turkey, chicken, fish, roast beef, potatoes, green beans, pasta, vegetables, followed by pies and cakes and tarts and cookies and cobblers. By the time everyone's finished, James' stomach feels like it's going to burst through his shirt. Talk is the lazy sort, over goblets of red wine or firewhiskey, while candles flicker, casting a soft, comfortable flow over the family. Their table has been stretched unbelievably, so that it now can hold forty-seven. James can hardly see down to the other end of the table, from where he sits. Slow carols are playing over the wireless, drifting over their heads and setting a nice atmosphere. James sips on his eggnog- even though he can legally drink firewhiskey, his parents are nothing but not old-fashioned. He doesn't mind- there's something about eggnog that tastes like Christmas.

When the clock chimes twelve, James decides that he wants some sleep before they're all woken up at four o'clock by the excited small children, so they hang up their stockings, (they don't all fit on the fireplace, instead they expand onto the walls all the way around the room) set out milk and cookies for Father Christmas, who the tiniest children still believe in, and carrots for the reindeer, before climbing up the stairs and into go to sleep. James' cousins are sleeping in the same bedroom, their little sleeping bags laying in neat rows across the floor like little sausage rolls. James wades through them and into his own bed, and pulls his thick blanket over him. Before he knows it, he's asleep.

He's awaken the next morning by the sound of rapid gunfire, as all the small children run down the staircase, shrieking and squealing with excitement. He groans, runs a hand through his hair and peers at the clock on the bedside table- it's not even five o'clock in the morning. He's never even woken up this early when he's had to. He slumps back into the bed, pulling the covers up to his chin, but then the door bursts open, and there's Sirius, already dressed, who comes bouncing into the room and jumps onto his bed. "Wake up, James!" He pokes the top of James' head impatiently. "It's Christmas! We have to open presents! Get up!"

James raises his arm to attempt to swat his best mate away, but Sirius only grabs his covers and throws them onto the floor, leaving James' bare chest cold and vulnerable. He curls up into a ball, and Sirius throws somem clothes onto his bed. "Get dressed," he sings, and then he's gone, and there's loud footsteps going down the stairs as he joins in with all the toddler's excitement. James attempts to go back to sleep, but it's just not worth it, so he drags himself to his feet, throws on his clothes, and manages to sleepwalk down the stairs and into the living room.

The tree looks as though it's exploded, with hundreds of parcels strewn across the floor, the stockings stuffed. James' cousin, Rose, teeters towards him- she's barely more than three- and attachs a sticky hand onto his trousers. "Presents!" She exclaims, giving him a gummy smiles and clapping her little hands together. He laughs blearily, and picks her up, swooping her around the living room to crash on the couch. She giggles, curling up on his chest and playing with his hand. She's one of the cutest toddlers he's seen- with curly, dark auburn hair and the biggest blue eyes he's ever seen. All the cousins in his family love him. Sure enough, the small children are edging towards him, climbing up on the couch, and then sitting on top of him, so that he can't breathe and he's covered in the weight of six tiny bodies.

The parents are coming down the stairs now, some eagerly, but most exhausted. James' mum starts to laugh when she sees him. Nobody tries to help extricate him, he sees. He watches, helpless, as James' dad goes into the kitchen to pour coffee, and the seats in the living room fill up, with aunts in their bathrobes and uncles with half-shaven faces, snoring into the chairs. All the children have long since left to open their stockings and presents. James watches their tiny faces alight with excitement and happiness, and the parents looking at them fondly. Sirius brings him an armful of presents, and sits down to unwrap his own- James' parents must have told their relatives about the newest member of their family, because Sirius has a sizable pile of his own.

When the flurry of unwrapping presents is over, James is surrounded by sweaters and chocolates and Quidditch gloves and socks. Sirius has crashed and burned, his head lolling against his shoulder, his mouth wide open. James' cousin, Lucy, who's eight years old and has the same dark hair and hazel eyes that he does, is carefully placing ripped bits of wrapping paper and ribbons into his mouth, her dimples showing as she tip toes around him. James doesn't feel like using the energy to stop them. It'd be good for Sirius, to have some fun with the younger children. He settles back into the couch and closes his eyes. He'll probably get an hour or two of good sleep in before his cousins turn their jokes on him.

On the morning of January the fourth, James packs his trunk, tows it down the stairs and waits for his mother to bustle in from the kitchen. She's carrying a bag of food- she always thinks that he's going to starve at school, no matter how many times he tells her that it's just the opposite. Her eyes are teary, and she blinks rapidly and clears her throat before speaking. "Well. I guess I'll see you next summer." She twitches the corner of her mouth up and sighs. "I'm going to miss you, James. It's not the same without you here."  
He sighs- maybe middle-aged woman are more hormonal than usual- but hugs her close to him. He can see gray threads in the roots of her hair from where he's sitting- she's getting older all the time, and it scares him. She pulls away from him and pats his cheek and watches him tow the trunk towards the gate, where Sirius is waiting. James' father has gone upstairs with a migraine, so his mum is alone in the door-frame, her arms wrapped around herself. He clangs the gate shut behind him, and waves to his mother, who waves and smiles back, before grabbing Sirius' arm and turning on the spot, arriving at King's Cross Station just in time to catch the train.

The train ride is long and quiet, and James drifts in and out of consciousness, his head resting against the window smacking against the cool glass. Sirius reads the magazine that Lily gave him last week.. At last, the train gives a low, hollow whistle, and rattles to a stop, steam billowing as the doors squeak open. They tug their luggage down from the rack and into the horseless carriages waiting for them that bring them up to the castle and pass through the Great Hall, up the marble steps and back into the common room. He drags his trunk up the stairs to the Head's dormitory eagerly, throws it on his bed and runs to Lily's room, excitement making him jittery. He can't wait to see her again- but she's not there.

He goes down the stairs two at a time and into the common room, scanning the room for a head of red hair, but still, she's nowhere to be found. Irked, he crosses the common room to where Sirius and Remus and Peter are sitting. Hestia's curled up on Sirius's lap, kissing his cheek, and takes the seat next to Remus. He nods sullenly when they greet him, and sits back in his chair, ignoring their chattering. It's not as though Lily's required to be waiting for him when he gets back. But, now that they're friends, or maybe more, it would have been nice. All he really wants is another hug.

It's eight o'clock by the time he goes up to his room, given up on the idea of ever seeing Lily before prefect duty tomorrow, when he happens to look into her dormitory, and she's there, grabbing a small pouch off of her dresser and coming out of the door. She stops when she sees him and looks up. She's more beautiful than ever- probably because he hasn't seen her in two weeks.

"Hi," he says breathlessly. She smiles. "Oh! Hi. I didn't know you came back." she brushes her hair out of her face. "I have to go. See you later," she says breezily, hurrying down the stairs and slamming the door behind her. He stands there, and the shock all over his face would be clear to Lily, if she hadn't left.

If James had ever needed a wake up call, that would be it. Lily didn't care about him, maybe not even as a friend. He had no right to be in love with her- she had her own life and her own interests, and he shouldn't try to go near it.

Never has he felt so alone.

. . . . . . . .

He's tired of loving her. He doesn't want to go through it anymore. It's an endless cycle, of knowing that she'll never think about him, of wishing she would, of thinking that she might, just possibly might return his regards, then the crashing realization that she never will. But there's this some part of him that wants to cling to her, because she's everything he ever wants, and also, she represents his childhood. Every year of his life spent pining over her. If he lets her go, he lets a part of himself slip away.

So what can he do, but continue living. Eating breakfast in the Great Hall, going to classes, playing chess with Remus and plotting with Sirius, and patrolling the corridors with Lily. She keeps up a steady chatter, and he answers polite enough, but he knows not to get his hopes up. He's not going to fool himself into believing that he has a chance with her.

But she's making it extremely difficult. She's everywhere he looks- outside his bedroom, across the table from him at the Great Hall, in the same classes, alone in dark corridors with him. It's almost infuriating, how beautiful she is, and how untouchable, yet she insists upon smiling at him, talking with him, letting her hand rest too long on his arm, leaning so close to him that their arms brush, as though she knows how hard this is for him. Like she's teasing him.

"Sirius."

"Hmmm?"

"Sirius."

"What?"

"Sirius!"

"Go away."

"Sirius!"

He finally comes up for air, brushes the curls away from Hestia's face and shoots a glare at James. "What do you want?'

"Can I talk to you?" He waits as Sirius looks irritated, then kisses Hestia's cheek, pries himself off the couch and follows James across the common room and towards the fireplace, which is surprisingly secluded. "What do you want?" Sirius asks gruffly, running his hands through his hair in the way that James usually does. "I was kind of busy, in case you didn't notice. . ."

"Can you curse me? You know, the killing curse? A quick and painless death?"

The way Sirius looks at him, you'd think he'd gone off his rocker. "What- you want me to be imprisoned for the next ten years because you want to knock yourself off?" Sirius shakes his head. "Just do it yourself." He sighs and looks at James, really looks at him. "You're a bit obsessed, mate. I think you need to learn to get over her."

James groans. "Easy for you to say," he says. "You go through girls faster than anybody."

Sirius looks offended. "Hestia and I have been together for a month. I'm not letting her go anywhere."

"Well, everyone but her," he amends. "I can't get over Lily. It'd be like. . . like losing my arm."

Sirius sighs again. "Then just be friends," he tells him. "Give up on ever wanting to have something more and be content with friendship. Otherwise, your life's going to be hell, mate."

James nods and reaches up to press the palms of his hands into his eyes. Black stars erupt in his vision, before he tugs them away and looks at Sirius. "I guess you're right," he says in a hollow voice, reaching out to clap Sirius on the shoulder. "Thanks, mate."

Sirius nods and starts to head back to Hestia, before stopping. "Oh, and Prongs?" The corner of his mouth twitches upwards. "Next time you start wanting to die, you'd best go visit Madame Pomfrey."

. . . . . . .

February arrives, along with endless storms that bring mounds of snow and strong winds. The castle is near freezing temperature, especially the astronomy classroom- on a tower- and James wears three heavy overcoats on top of each other in order to keep warm.

On February 14th, James wakes up early, having been assigned to decorating the Great Hall for Valentine's Day. He takes special care with his appearance- attacking his hair with a wet comb, washing his face, and putting on a pale green buttondown shirt- pink is overrated. He makes his way down to the empty Great Hall.

"Hi, James," Lily's already downstairs, a bucket balancing on her knee filled with all sorts of decorations. She beams at him, and he can't help but stare. She's not wearing any makeup, and her red hair is pulled back from her face in a messy bun. She's wearing a tank top and a pair of cutoff shorts that show her long legs, and he's never seen her this undone before. She looks more beautiful than ever. He isn't sure why- maybe how clear and open her face is, or if it bothers him or not- that she didn't take the time to make herself look pretty for him, or that she feels comfortable enough to look like that around him. Either way, he decides, she probably doesn't even know his last name, and it's not like it'd matter anyway.

"What are we doing?" He asks, raking his hair away from his eyes and glancing down at the bucket. It's filled with tacky lace doillies and metallic cupids and strings of heart-shaped lanterns that look as if a tacky love store exploded all over her. A piece of tape is hanging off of Lily's chin, and his eyes are drawn to it while she explains. She stops, and he blinks and looks up into her eyes. She frowns, and looks self-conscious. "What's wrong?"

He grins and reaches out to peel the tape off of her chin, fingers brushing longer against the smooth skin than appropriate, and show it to her. "You had tape on your chin," he says, folding it in half and sticking it in his pocket, to throw away later. "Sorry."

She smiles and rubs the slightly red spot absently. "Thanks," she looks at his pocket momentarily, then jumps back into her explanation. "Hang these hearts anywhere there's blank wall," she tells him, shoving handfuls of pink ribbons and lace into his hand. "And use a mild Sticking charm- Filch will skin us if they don't come down."  
James likes the 'us' in the sentence more than he should. He smiles slightly, looking down at the hearts. "Merlin knows it's tacky enough," he mutters under his breath, and surprisingly, she hears, and laughs., touching his forearm in appreciation lightly before turning away and walking away to continue to hang up decorations on the walls. He forces himself to move, with difficulty- the tingling sensation is sharper than needles.

She's attempting to lift a massive sculpture of a winged angel across the Hall, and her tiny frame is trembling with exertion, her back bowed. Her tank top is riding up in the front, her thin stomach revealed. He can't help but stare at that pale strip of skin. She stops, panting, her arms visibly shaking. He strides over to him, and grabs half of the statue that's slipping from her grip. She huffs as the weight is transfered, and smiles gratefully, and he can see the beads of sweat dabbling her forehead. He grunts in return, and they haul the statue together over to the opposite side of the Great Hall. Their hands are touching, and the most wonderful electricity was traveling up his arm and into his brain, making him feel woozy. He could smell her, and it was overpowering.

"Thank you," Lily says brightly, as they tip the statue up on its pedestal and step back to survey it. It looks completely hideous, but that might be part of the charm. She's half-leaning on him, and he wonders if she realizes that her bare arm is pressed up against his bare one, she doesn't seem to notice, He's afraid of breathing- it might just blow her away.

Valentine's Day is a disaster. Girls, giggling around the breakfast table. Girls, slinking up to him and batting their eyelashes. Girls, crying in the corner because they didn't get any love notes. He hates it. The owls can't fly straight, during mail time, so laden down as they are with letters and presents. James has a pile of notes in front of his own plate, but he doesn't even bother looking through them. None of them are from Lily. None of them are worth having.

Lily, on the other hand, has disappeared under the pile of valentines, boxes of chocolates, red roses, stuffed animals, poems, books, clothing. She probably has enough gifts to sustain a third-world country for at least a month. Surprisingly enough, she's actually reading them, smiling at whoever it is that's professed his undying love to her. Hundreds of blokes. She could fall for any of them.

He didn't bother to send her a valentine. He's attempting to take Sirius's advice, and treat her like a friend.

He goes through his classes miserably. Girls are comparing valentines, wearing roses in their hair, or new silver bracelets. The only comfort is that Lily hasn't touched any of her presents, and isn't talking about any boys with her friends. Marlene seems to be sighing over a small box of chocolates that James has forced Remus to send her.

At last, after the longest school day of his life, he shoves down a stale dinner and heads glumly up the staircase to his dormitory. Valentine's Day is supposed to be about love. And while he's never had anyone to share it with before, it hits him particularly hard that he can never spend the day with the girl he loves.

He pauses outside her door and sighs. She's sitting at her desk, her back to him, her red hair pulled back in a ponytail that falls down her shoulders. Her hand is clamped on her forehead, and she's scribbling something over her desk.

"What are you doing?" He asks.

Lily looks up from her desk, around her shoulder, and smiles. "Writing thank you notes."

"Thank you notes?" He goes over to stand above her, looking over her head at the valentines, which have been sorted into neat stacks and tied with rubber bands. She's writing a letter with flawless cursive, before she signs her name at the bottom and turns her face upwards at him. "Yes," she says, rolling up the parchment and tearing off another strip. "I mean, it's the least I can do. All these guys writing to me, telling me they love me and giving me presents. . . Well, I can't reciprocate that. It's embarrassing. The least I can do to make it up to them is say thanks."

His chest is suddenly tight with emotion. "But. . . ?"

She looks directly into his eyes. "I couldn't fancy any of them," she says, her lips curving into a smile. Her head is tilted up so that she's looking directly up at him, like a flower blooming in the sun. "Not now, anyway."

He wants to read into that, a thousand things that aren't there. But, remembering Sirius's advice, he bids her good night and goes across the hall to flop down on his bed, fully clothed, and tries to forget.

. . . . . . . .

When he comes into his dormitory the next afternoon to grab his Potions book and return back to the Common Room, where Sirius and Remus are waiting, Lily's already there. She's lying on his bed, and her red hair is splayed out across his pillow in an arc as she looks out his window. She makes such an alluring sight that he stops to stare. She turns her head, sees him, and smiles. "Sorry. Your room's much better- it actually has a window. And the bed's more comfortable."

He shrugs and sits down next to her- his hand brushing against her shoulder as he does so. She shivers, almost imperceptibly- probably from the near-freezing temperature outside. Snow was piling up on the sill, fogging over the window. She's watching it, and he watches her, the way her teeth bite into her lip and her long lashes scrape her cheeks as she blinks.

She's too beautiful for her own good.

. . . . . . . .

It's the end of March, nearly April, when he gets the letter. The owl swoops in one breakfast, white-speckled wings spread to catch the air, and drops it on James' nearly empty plate. He takes a sip of orange juice, wipes his hands on his napkin, and rips open the top, wondering if it's from his mother, saying that he's forgotten a pair of socks at the house during the holidays, and she'll send them the next morning. The handwriting, however, is unknown to him, and looks vaguely sinister.

"Mr. Potter," he reads aloud to Sirius and Remus's prodding. "Your parents were killed in a car crash this morning at the intersection-"

He stops and blinks. A car crash? His parents didn't own a car. He scans down to the bottom of the letter, and sees the signature of a local Muggle policeman. He crinkles his forehead. Sirius's fork has frozen on its way to his mouth, and Remus is staring at James with wide eyes. James laughs, but it sticks in his throat. "It's from a Muggle," he says, as though that would mean it's false. "They can't be. . . dead." His voice cracks. He takes another gulp of orange juice and tries not to think.

When breakfast is over, he pockets the letter and, deciding that Herbology isn't as important as finding out what was at the bottom of this news, makes his way up the marble staircase, across the hall, up a swinging bridge, until he's at the Headmaster's door. He stops- he doesn't know the password. The gargoyle looks at him expectently. He's not going to make a fool out of himself by guessing random words, however, and slouches against the wall, hand clenched around the paper in his pocket, and waits.

At last, when nearly an hour has passed, he hears the grinding, scraping of the staircase twisting down to meet him, and stands upright in time to see Professor Sinistra, her hair hidden under a large floral hat. She smiles tentatively at him, but he pushes her aside and hops onto the staircase as it spirals upward. He's nearly positive that he hears an indignant sniff from behind him.

The Headmaster's door is shut, and he knocks twice on the wood, not wanting to be rude by barging in. There's a moment of silence, then a throat clears, and a quiet voice says, "Come in."

He pushes open the door and looks in. Dumbledore is sitting at his desk, his usual star-studded midnight-blue hat perched on his head. He isn't sure what it was with the teachers in this school and ridiculous hats, but he decides not to ask. "Sir?"

Dumbledore looks up and smiles when he sees who it is. "Ah. Mr. Potter. I thought you might be visiting." He gestures to the seat across from him, and James crosses the room and sits. The Headmaster folds his long fingers under his chin and examines James with those blue eyes. Feeling uncomfortable, he reaches into his pocket, uncrumples the letter, and throws it down on the desk. "Here. This came in the mail today."

Dumbledore picks it up and scans it quickly. The genial smile on his face fades. He gives a heavy sigh. "Yes, I was informed about this." He looks directly up at James. "Surely you don't have a question about it?"

James doesn't know what to say. "Er. . . Well, it can't be true, can it? I mean, the car crash. I don't think my parents have ever been in a car. And. . . and they can't be dead?"

Dumbledore nods and looks out the window, into the swirling gray sky. Finally, he inclines his head towards James. "Just because a Muggle wrote it, Mr. Potter, does not mean that it is entirely false."

It's like lead is growing inside James' stomach. He gulps. "You mean. . . it's true."

Dumbledore raises his shoulders and splays his fingers in the universal, that's-the-way-it-is gesture used by adults to convey their sympathy and lack of helpfulness. "It was not a car accident, however. The Muggles have an excuse for everything, don't they?"

"Then. . . then they're dead?"

Dumbledore hesitates, then nods solemnly. "I'm afraid so." The light that usually rests in his eyes has gone out. "To my understanding, it was Lord Voldemort who murdered them, Or, one of his followers most likely."

James doesn't know where to look. Doesn't know what to feel. "But. . . why them? What did they ever do?"

"It's not what they did, it's what they didn't do, I believe. Your parents are one of the wealthiest, most influential families in Britain. If they had joined Voldemort's side, it would have been a great downfall for us."

He shudders at the mention of You-Know-Who's name. His throat feels oddly constricted. "So. . . they're gone. That's it." He took a moment to absorb the impact, then sighs. "So what will happen to me? Now that I'm a. . . an orphan." It's a strange word to say, and even stranger to apply it to himself.

"You're of age now." Dumbledore says simply. "It's up to you as to what happens." He gives James one last sympathetic look, then goes back to reading his papers. Recognizing dismissal, James gets numbly to his feet and makes his way to the door and down the spiral staircase. There's no excuse for being late to Transfiguration, even if your parents were murdered.

Somehow, he gets through his classes. His friends don't bother asking him what happened, but sit a distance from him and give him wary looks, as though he might break down and have a crying fit in the middle of class. He doesn't remember one thing that the teachers try to teach them- it's like his mind is numb. He doesn't want dinner, instead makes a beeline for his dormitory, where he can sit on his bed and stare out the window.

His parents. _His _parents. He knew there was a war going on, but he never imagined that his family would be part of the fatality. He pictures his parents, maybe sipping tea and reading the newspapers, or taking a walk downtown hand-in-hand, before out pops a Death Eater, wand in hand, and a flash of green light. . . He shudders.

Dead. Merlin, why can't he get his head around it? It's just that his parents are so alive,. . . warm. . . loving. And they're gone now and he didn't have a chance to say good-bye. He's never going to forgive himself for that.

"James?"

He looks up at the open door and sees Lily, who's halted outside in the hall. He pastes a smile on his face and tries to look as natural as possible, but it obviously doesn't work.

"James, what happened?" She enters his room, and he doesn't have the energy to feel embarrassed at the clothes stacked in a heap on his chair, or his parchment strewn across the desk. She sits down on the bed next to him and stares. "What's wrong?"

Somehow, when someone is being kind to him, he can feel tears welling up in his eyes. He blinks rapidly and forces them back. "My. . . my parents," he says in a husky voice that doesn't belong to him. "They're. . .dead."

"Oh my God." Her hands reach out to grab his and clasp it between them. The warmth is lovely. "I'm so sorry."

He laces his fingers through hers and closes his eyes. He feels her touch his shoulder, tentatively. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He shakes his head violently no, but then starts talking anyway. "It's just. . .I never imagined it would be them, you know?" Her hand tightens on his. "And. . . I loved them. They were. . . the best people I knew." He doesn't think he can say much more than that. She seems to understand, and gently rubs her thumb over his. "I know," she says softly. "I know how hard it is." She has it harder than him, if he was going to measure up their two situations, but he doesn't bother. She leans towards him, and he opens his eyes. "I can tell they were good people," she says, "even though I never met them. They raised you, after all."

Just those two sentences cause him to nearly lose it. He swallows and blinks and swallows again and fails to get it under control. Lily somehow knows what to do, and her arm goes around his waist, pulling him towards him, until his head is in the crook between her neck and her shoulder. He can smell her comforting vanilla scent, and then he's screwing up his eyes and trying not to cry.

"It's okay," she whispers, her free hand stroking his hair. "It'll be okay, James." And somehow, with him in her arms, he can pretend that everything will be, in the end.

. . . . . . . .

He can't ignore her any longer. It's like trying to stop an avalanche with two bare hands- impossible and pointless. Instead, he's at the bottom of the mountain, hunched behind a rock, trying not to get swept away with the full force. Because somewhere along all of this, it's changed. He doesn't think of her as the model of perfection. She's no longer Lily Evans, the girl who has everything going for her. She's only Lily- _his_ Lily- and she's another human being that lives and feels sadness, just like everyone else. She makes mistakes, she has habits that make him want to scream at her, but in the end, he loves her for her imperfections, too.

No matter how irritating they are. . .

"Rise and shine, Lily darling!" He barges into her room, throws open the curtains around her bed, exposing her to the sunlight streaming through the window. She's curled up on her side, her hand balled up and pressed against her cheek, like a baby's, her long red hair tangled around her like a halo. He throws himself onto the bed next to her, bouncing up and down so that she is thrown off the side. She lands on the floor in a crumpled heap, and gives an unladylike grunt, stirring slightly.

"It's a bright new day! Time to get up and meet the people."

She opens her eyes a crack and blinks at him. "James Potter, you are an abominable excuse for a human being."

He doesn't pay any attention to her, and rips the blankets off of her. Dear God- she's wearing nothing more than a tank top and a pair of underpants. He tries not to gape, and instead nudges her with the toe of his foot. "Seriously, get up, Lily. We have Head duty in ten minutes. McGonagall might carve out your liver if you miss it."

He leaves her muttering death threats on the floor and goes into his bedroom to attempt to run a comb through his tangled hair. It doesn't make a difference. If anything, it makes his hair stand up on end. He flattens it with the palm of his hand, straightens his collar, and decides to give up on his appearance and just put his trainers on. As he's tying his last shoelace, Lily comes slumping through the door and throws herself onto his bed. She managed to put on a pair of jeans, tie her knotted hair back with a ribbon and throw on a sweater. She looks entirely undone, but still lovely.

"Don't you dare sleep on my bed," James warns her, although he really wouldn't mind if she did. "We have a meeting to go to- you'd probably be the one waking me up, if you slept last night instead of studying the whole time."

She raises her head off his pillow. "Keep your voice down," she snaps.

He gets to his feet, walks up to the bed, and scoops Lily into his arms. Her eyes fly open and she gives an indignant squeak. "What are you doing?" She shrieks, wiggling and squirming. He notices that she's only wearing socks on her impossibly small feet, and smiles. "We'd never get anywhere if I let you come downstairs on your own."

"Fine," she pouts, and he settles her more comfortably into his arms as he starts to walk down the hall. She's surprisingly light. Her head is tucked under his chin, her cheek resting against his neck. He could feel her eyelashes brushing against his skin as she blinks. "But you'd better put me down before McGonagall sees."

"Don't worry." Under the pretest of going down the stairs, James buries his nose in her hair, feeling her breath fanning against his collarbone, and breathing in her smell of vanilla. The common room is nearly empty as they go downstairs, but the few people seated in armchairs or sprawled across couches watch them curiously. Lily giggles and buries her face in her shirt. "They're staring," she whispers, and he can feel her lips moving on his skin. A matching grin spreads across his face at the words.

Let them stare.

. . . . . . . .

March blusters into April, which rains into May. Flowers bloom, brilliant yellows and reds and pinks against the lush green grass, and the gray skies split open to reveal deepest blue and clouds like spun sugar. The grounds have never been more inviting, but, unfortunately, N.E. are in a month, and they can't afford to waste time. So they bring their textbooks outside and lounge underneath the oak tree to study. Lily's friends have joined his now- for the sole reason that Remus and Marlene are now dating. They're not as flamboyant about it as Sirius and Hestia- who's sitting on his lap as they read the same book- just their fingers intertwined as they ignore each other, or subtle smiles. James is just glad that Marlene's given up on him. Spring, it seems, is the time for couples, as Alice Prewitt and Frank Longbottom join them, their arms wrapped around each other.

James hates the shade, and instead sprawls across the sunlit grass, his book propped on his chest as he sleeps. As a result, he's gotten a severe sunburn that's faded into a deep tan by now. Lily's the one who prods him whenever he falls asleep- usually with a very sharp stick, or clover on his nose- and so he's actually learning what he needs to.

"When I grow up," James says one sunny day, during break time. "I'm not going to bother with learning any of this nonsense." He gestures towards Lily's book, titled _Thirty Influential Goblin Leaders._ "I mean, who needs to know the name of the first king of the goblins?"

"Ragnook," Lily says promptly. He's thrown off guard for a moment. "You actually know that?"

She grins, showing dimples. "Of course. Some of us paid attention during History of Magic."

"Strange," he mutters, and can't duck the swat she gives his upper arm. "None of this studying, when I'm on my own, though," he declares. "I'll just get a job where I don't need any training. Like. . . like those ice cream trucks? With Muggles? I'll buy one and stock up on popsicles and tour the countryside bring joy to small children."

She laughs, and the sound is so free and open, it makes him smile. "And, what? Just live in the back of the freezer? "

"Of course. It's good for character-building." He looks at her, and tries to decide why he loves her. It may about how gorgeous she is, but that's not the whole part. There's this light inside her, that seeps out into the open and intoxicates everyone she's around. It's about how wonderfully kind and giving and energetic and vibrant she is. And he can't help but love her, because that's what people do, fall for her again and again, and there's nothing he can do but show her that and let her decide how she feels and what to do.

"James? James?" He blinks, in time to see her waving her hand back and forth over his eyes. "Are you okay? You spaced out on me, there."

He smiles. "I'm fine."

"We've got Potions in five minutes," she says, getting to her feet and offering her hand for him to get up. "If we don't leave, we're going to be late."

He hauls himself up and grabs his book bag, wishing more than anything that he could still be holding onto her hand.

. . . . . . . .

Watching Lily watch him is probably the best way to spend his day, James decides. It's mid-May, and Lily has dragged him up to his bedroom, sat him down in front of the window so that sunlight streamed in on his face, blinding him, and began to sketch, in the seat across from him. Her bare feet are crossed, resting on his leg, her red hair held up by a single pencil, and there's a smudge of charcoal on her cheek. Her fingers are flying over her sketchbook, mapping out his face. He can't see exactly what she's drawing, and the one time he asked, she nearly ripped his head off. He's content to wait now.

He can usually tell what bits of him she's drawing. When it was his nose, her eyes were trained to it, and he had to resist the urge to scratch it. When it was his eyes, they had a staring contest so severe that it dried out James' eyeballs, but she snapped at him when he blinked. Artists sure are touchy, he decides, watching her add shading to the left side of the paper.

"Lily," he says, when he can't bear it anymore. She pauses and arches an eyebrow at him. "What?" She asks, and there's a warning in her tone.

"Sorry," he immediately apologizes, or he might find her charcoal pencil in an unpleasant spot. "But. . . it's just that you've got a smudge, on your cheek."

She raises her hand absently, brushes the wrong spot, and manages to smear the charcoal even further. He holds back a laugh and leans forward, using the pad of his thumb to wipe at the smudge. Her eyes widen, and he suddenly realizes just how close to her he is, and that _he's touching her face_, and her cheek is incredibly smooth. He leans back, letting his fingers linger before pulling them away. "It's gone," he says, his voice slightly deeper than usual. She blinks, then clears her throat. "Right. Thanks." Her cheeks are the color of raspberry sherbert as she leans back over her drawing.

She doesn't look up at him again.

At last, when he's spent more than an hour in the chair, and his legs are beginning to go numb, she throws down her pencil and examines her work, satisfied. "There," she says. "It's not my best, but it's not too bad." She offers it to him, and he nearly falls off the chair in his excitement to grab it. He flips the pad over and looks at the drawing. There's no doubt that the face is his- the same rumpled hair, eyeglasses, long nose and lines around his mouth. He doesn't know much about art, but he'd be willing to bet that this drawing is different than all the other portraits in the book- there's emotion behind it.

"Thank you," he says earnestly, handing the book back to her. "You're amazing." She doesn't meet her eyes, and busies herself with closing the cover. There's a smile playing around her mouth, however, and he doesn't want to make more false judgement again, but he'd be willing to bet that he's finally getting through to her.

. . . . . . . . .

For some reason, Lily's cat has taken a fancy to him. It follows him around, like a little shadow, across the common room, down the stairs, into the Great Hall, into all his classes. If it weren't Lily's, he'd probably kick it out the window. If he didn't have a conscience, that is. Lily laughs when she sees it.

"It's a good thing," she insists. "Lucy doesn't like just anyone."

'Lucifer' has an odd way of showing it, James decides. Normal cats curl up on your lap and purr, let you scratch their ears. This cat bites, so hard it actually draws blood, steals food, and brings severed mouse heads to leave on his pillow as a token of affection, then licks its paws and looks smug and waits for a pat on the head of appreciation.

But James is glad, that Lily's cat likes him, solely for the reason that it's hers, that something she loves so much is growing fond of him. Hopefully, the like from the cat will seep into Lily herself. Or something like that.

He'd best go check Remus for the proper wording.

. . . . . .

The way James tells Lily isn't anything special, to say the least- anti-climactic. It's the beginning of June, and they're sitting outside after dinner, watching the sun set over the lake. Sirius and Remus and all the others had been outside, but left them alone to go get snacks from the kitchens. James isn't particularly hungry, though, and is quite content to be with head's resting on her thigh, close enough to her that he can feel every twitch of her muscles, his body stretched out perpendicular to hers, so that he can soak in as much sunlight as possible. Lily's sitting cross-legged, bent over her sketchpad, her fingers flying over a drawing of the lake and forest. The Giant Squid is raising its tentacles towards the sky, as though begging to be included in her drawing. He watches it, and the girls who run shrieking away from the lake, and makes a decision.

"Lily."

She looks down at him, eyebrows raised. She's absolutely beautiful, when the rosy sunlight glints off her hair, casting golden, coppery strands., her skin glowing, her eyes light and open and a clear green. He smiles back, and the words slip from him easily.

"I love you." Her eyes widen, and there's a quick intake of breath, but he closes his eyes and relaxes in the sunlight. "Just thought you should know," he mumbles sleepily.

She doesn't say anything back, but he suddenly feels her hand on the top of his head, stroking his hair away from his face in the most gentle of touches, and he knows that she understands, and that it isn't necessary for her to reciprocate it.

He just wants to make sure that she knows.

. . . . . . .

Exams take place the next week, and James has never been so nervous in his life. Despite what he told Lily, he doesn't actually want to be an ice cream truck when he grows up. An Auror would be nice, but a bit far-fetched. He'd like to save more people from going to same way as his parents, however.

The examiners arrive one Thursday, laden with suitcases and rolls of parchments. The seventh years are particularly subdued, and don't join in with the merrymaking of the younger students, celebrating that school's nearly out. James stays up late at night, sometimes into the early hours of the morning, pouring over textbooks and copying notes down onto parchment. From the light seeping through the crack under the door across from him, Lily does too, but they don't speak to each other. There's no time. They're in a daze.

When it comes time for examinations to happen, James doesn't do badly. He misses a few questions in History of Magic, gets attacked by the plant he's supposed to be taming in Herbology, but he manages to turn his flounder into an oven mitt in Transfiguration, and does exceedingly well in practical DADA. Overall, he's pleased with his results, as the seventh years troop back to the Great Hall, talking excitedly. This was probably the last test he's ever going to take, unless he does want to be an auror. The food at dinner is delicious, and it occurs to him that he was so petrified he hasn't been able to taste anything for the past week.

. . . . . . .

"James."

". . . go 'way."

"James."

"Stop it."

"James!"

He finally opens his eyes and looks up. He's lying in bed, his head tucked under a pillow, legs tangled with sheets. The room is dark, cool blue light filtering in through the open windows. He guesses that it's probably four in the morning. He turns over, feeling his head throb. He didn't get any sleep after the party in the common room last night, and he doesn't appreciate being woken so early. It is, after all, the last week of school, and they don't have classes or Head duty or anything. He'd been counting on sleeping in.

Lily's standing in his doorway, wearing a tank top and a pair of shorts, her hair tumbling down her back. Her face looks unnaturally pale in the blue light. She smiles as she sees him watching her, and makes her way over to his bed. "Hey."

"Go away." He repeats blearily, something he never thought he'd be telling her. She perches on the side of his bed and rumples his hair affectionately, the way his mother used to do when he was little. He cracks open one eye, and sees her looking down at him with a tender expression on her face. His breath catches in his chest.

"James," she says again, and finally he drags himself up onto his elbows and rubs his eyes. "Yeah?"

"I have to tell you something."

"Can't it wait until daylight's here?" He complains, flopping back down onto his pillow and watching her. She's blushing, a pretty pink spreading over her cheeks. Despite himself, he's curious. She shakes her head. "I think you might want to hear it," she says. "Look. I've been thinking. . . about what you said, the other day. At the lake." she ducks her head and looks at her hands. "I don't think it's fair to you, for you to tell me you fancied me and not expect anything back."

Is she saying what he thinks she might be saying? He stares at her, his heart beginning to pound faster. She looks directly up at him. "I think I might love you," she admits in a soft voice. His heart actually skips a beat, and he has to put his hand to his chest to calm it. "Did you just say. . ."

"I love you?" She grins and ducks her head. "It just. . ." her sentence trails off, and she shrugs. "It feels natural, you know? Like I'm supposed to."

He's forgotten about sleep, by now. None of it matters. Nothing matters, except that Lily Evans- _Lily Evans_- is in love with him. Love. With Him. A grin breaks over his face. "Really?'

She nods and reaches out to tentatively touch his face. He closes his eyes. "You're. . . you're different, than everyone else. You actually care about me. You understand. And you're funny, and smart, and kind." Her hand skims down, light as a moth, to touch the hollow of his collarbone. "It doesn't hurt that you're good-looking, too," she says cheekily. He laughs and sits upright, so that their faces are only a few inches apart, and he can feel her breath fanning across his face. Waves of joy are breaking over him, crashing into each other. She loves him. He loves her. They actually have a chance. He'd never thought this day would come. He reaches out, tucks her hair behind her ear, lets his hand linger on her jaw. He can do that now.

"I love you, too" he whispers, pulling her closer. He can feel her smiling as he presses his lips to hers, which are forming the words, 'I know'. The kiss isn't perfect, by any means- it's soft and warm and awkward- but the fact that it's Lily that he's kissing, that it's the only girl he's loved, and he wouldn't trade the experience for anything in the world. She pulls away, smiling, and plants a kiss on his cheek.

"I have something else to tell you," she says. He raises his eyebrows at her. "I'm really t-tired," she confesses, her words split in the middle by a huge yawn. He laughs. "You could have waited until morning," he says affectionately, as she climbs under the covers with him and curls up into his bare chest. "I would've waited."

"I know," she says sleepily, her arms going up around his neck as her eyes close. He sighs happily, and pulls her closer, burying his face in her hair and closing his eyes as well. The bed gives a little shake- the telltale sign of Lily's cat jumping up to sleep with them. Maybe tomorrow, they'd get around to talking about what this means, and kiss for real. Someday, they might move in together, maybe get married, have kids.

All he knows for certain now, is that Lily Evans is the perfect girl for him.

**The End**

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